


as they kiss consume

by juliettes



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Birthday Cake, Canon Compliant, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Making Out, Meet the Family, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-03-17 18:20:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18970531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliettes/pseuds/juliettes
Summary: —and the world is mineacollection of canon inspired one-shotson love and everything in between.





	1. i.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am constantly overwhelmed by the kindness of your words so thank you. _dearly_.

 

 

**i. turn off the lights (just like we’re seventeen)**

 

 

 

"come in," eliott says, and lucas' eyes wander around the room. it's his first time in eliott's home, his first home, the home that traded scraped knees for bedsheets left untouched for months on end. the house is sunny and warm, and it smells faintly of lemon cleaning agent and food that had been cooked hours before, and lucas often stops to look at the pictures on the wall. eliott is always in them. smile sunny, like the house he once lived in. it's an antithesis to his own home — his first home, at least, where everything stood cold. his family isn't here at the moment, and lucas feels awkward, standing in front of an eliott he isn't necessarily familiar with.

unsurprisingly, eliott looks like he belongs, hair a mess, clothes wrinkled, a lightness to his steps as he shows lucas around. while he'd like to think he knows eliott like the back of his hand, there are certain parts of him lucas doesn't know that are private, hidden. but here, lucas thinks something's changed, and it makes him feel warm all over, the sensation exquisite. picture frames line the wall leading into the kitchen — eliott stops when he does. red counting blocks surround a crying toddler, grainy, poorly shot. seeing this, lucas properly melts.

"it's me," eliott's voice is nostalgic, full of affection. it's a rare sort of emotion he isn't quite used to, so he keeps it close. lucas watches him, quiet, shuffling until he can slide an arm around his waist, melting even further when fingers curl around the hair against his nape. "lucky you, you get to see all my terrible photos and the bad haircuts."

he presses a kiss against the hollow of his collarbone. "lucky me," and he means it.

for a brief moment lucas forgets that he'll be meeting eliott's parents soon, but when he does he groans, burying himself deeper into eliott's slide, intentionally clingy, huffing. he's decidedly stressed, and eliott notices it. "you okay?" he asks, worried, drawing lucas away a bit to cradle his face. he bites his lip with a shrug. eliott leans into lucas' forehead, knowing, even lacking words.

"they'll love you."

"you don't know—"

"i do."

"how?" lucas says, flatly.

"because," eliott just shrugs, "i love you."

at the words being said so blatantly and so truthfully, lucas blushes. it's with a touch that is soft and gentle and delicate that eliott takes him into his room, mattress whimpering under their weight. like the apartment lucas is used to visiting there are sketches on the wall beside certificates, movie posters, quotes printed on yellowed paper. he laughs, weakly, at the star wars merchandise lying around, drinking in all the parts of eliott alien to him.

eliott smiles at him. and then he kisses him.

slow is how it goes, tender, the edge of the bedframe digging into the back of his thighs as eliott presses him deeper into the mattress. at some point it gets too much, too hot. lucas pulls away, utterly flustered. he looks at eliott to see red coloring his face, and eliott looks back. "i, um—" lucas clears his throat, too bothered, leaving the sentence unfinished. eliott's gaze definitely lingers. an old figurine across the room stares accusingly at them. coughing, lucas puts space between them while eliott watches, eyebrows raised, amused. "your parents," he explains, thinly.

"my parents," eliott repeats, slowly. lucas nods, not trusting himself to explain further. his hand finds eliott's, anyway, fingers twined, squeezing. a chuckle spills out, and it's a sound that stirs every part of his soul, getting under his skin, rendering his vocabulary useless. eliott stands. "come on, then, i'll show you the backyard."

stubborn frost lines the edges of the gate where flowers bloom in all the colors of the sunset: pink and blue and purple. winter in february has been unusually clement, and spring is kind even as she resists. "they're pretty," lucas comments, crouching to sniff at them, not entirely sure on what to do next. "what are they called again?"

"peonies." eliott plucks a stem from the ground, petals blush, soft and velvet-like, to hold toward him. "you should tell my mom that, she'll love you more than she already does."

lucas blinks, suddenly alert. "should i?" it's better to pretend he didn't hear the latter half, because he'll start to hope

"yes," he laughs, shaking his head, somehow sounding serious. eliott wraps his fingers around the flower and lucas' hand, pressing lightly before he lets go. "they remind me of you — _pretty_." then he turns, as if oblivious to sentences like that, unaware of the feelings they cause. lucas stands behind him, peony in hand and heart beating in disarray.

"you need to stop saying things like that."

eliott looks over his shoulder, feigning ignorance. "like what?" lucas rolls his eyes. he takes steps toward him, arms tight around his waist, secure, unwilling to move. romance is novocaine of sorts, lucas thinks, one taste and he wants it again, and again, and again. it's dangerous, the same as falling without knowing how far down the bottom is. lucas fists the hem of eliott's sweater, breathing him in. _i love you_. there are many ways to convey it with words or wordlessly. lucas finds that either of its effects are in equal measure.

eventually the position gets tiring and they walk together, tripping over each other's legs and hands and hands and hands, peony crushed between them, living room, laughter. noon finds them sitting cross legged with their backs against the sofa. looking up from his phone, lucas glances sideways to see eliott staring, eyes unreadable. "you're conspiring," he notes out loud.

knees touching, elbows touching, eliott blinks, as if coming out from under a spell. "how did you know?" lucas shrugs. all of a sudden, his smile grows mischiveous. it's a smile that makes him feel unnecessarily discomposed, for reasons he can't name — or maybe he can, eliott leaning close enough to see the shadows his eyelashes cast. "let's go, i have something to show you."

he's hauled up in a matter of seconds and following eliott to stop in front of a rug, elaborate and unassuming. eliott makes quick work of tugging it aside. a trap door, lucas raises his eyebrows and says, "this is not how i want to go." eliott scoffs but twists his body around to kiss him, and he's warm and he smells good, and lucas burns hot.

"it's not a murderous lair. _promise_."

lucas is only half convinced.

hinges groan as it is pried open, dust shimmering in the afternoon sunlight, a phone torch guiding them down wooden stairs. it's dark and chilly, and there's bottles of alcohol everywhere. "pick one." and he does, a red wine with a label that claims _argentinian pinot noir_ , fancy gold lettering, _smoky notes_ , and has a few regrets. eliott whistles, impressed. "— the expensive one," he points out cheekily, slyly, irises silver in the shadowy glint of the light. lucas huffs.

"i'm getting another one." he reaches out to take it from him but eliott's fast to pull it back, holding it away from him, _above_ him. even standing fruitlessly on his toes doesn't help the situation. then lucas hooks his arms around eliott's neck to kiss him in the cramped cellar. it's a successful tactic, because eliott lowers his arms to slide around his waist, and lucas gently pries the bottle from his fingers, stepping away. eliott is all dazed, a bit breathy, tongue darting out to wet his lips. the knowledge that this effect is mutual makes him pleased. his throat dries as he says, "your parents are going to hate me if we drink this."

eliott pauses, considering. "they won't have to know." he smiles, hand outstretched, lucas takes it with a sigh, with a huff, with a heart full of fondness it stings, it aches, tripping back up the stairs, two chipped mugs and a bottle on the floor between them, adoration around them.

they go out into the backyard and eliott stands by the doorway, barefoot, flushed pink, red wine lingering on his lips, and lucas' vowels fail him. apparently this argentinian pinot noir isn't enough to get drunk, but enough to be tipsy, enough to fool around, enough for lucas to know the sun has shifted. eliott touches the brown strands of his hair, mouth slightly parted. the bed is small, cramped, though he smiles at the thought of a shorter, younger eliott sleeping in this bed, an eliott he didn't know yet. lucas falls into a dreamless sleep, lulled into slumber by the warmth of eliott's body, the hand on his head, the consonants that leave him. when he awakes, the room is in cool blues. at some point eliott must have fallen asleep, lucas guesses, because he stirs a bit. he doesn't have it in himself to wake him so instead he watches the different hues that play with the contours of his cheeks. conscious of his own breathing, slightly ashamed of how creepy this probably is.

eliott is still beautiful even in sleep, face placid, features even-tempered. lucas allows himself to stare at the details for several minutes, before poking him awake. "we need to clean up," he whispers, sentence coming out brokenly. there's no reply. now they're under a duvet, even though lucas is pretty sure he fell asleep on top of it. "eliott—" then hasty, he adds: " _baby_."

it's pointless to hide the heat creeping up all over his neck as eliott's eyes blink open. a lazy smile stretches his face, lucas clears his throat, propping himself up. "i could get used to this," is the first thing eliott says, to break the silence. a beat. "your hair's a mess." fingers pat his hair, trailing down his face, across his lips. lucas' breathing stutters foolishly, all the touches feather-light, pressing sometimes, eliott watching for his reaction.

"eliott," lucas starts, as a warning or a plea he doesn't know.

"yeah, yeah — okay, i'm getting up." jeans scratchy on his palms, he melts into eliott's side, shirt half-ridden to expose a sliver of stomach. eliott disappears under the covers to kiss it. lucas feels smothered.

it takes a little pulling and demanding for them to finally, finally get up, and in the darkness lucas tries vainly to make himself look presentable. eliott moves close — closer, to kiss him or just stand in front of him, unhelpful, hands tentative on his hips as they coax lucas forward. lucas holds his breath, eliott's hands fall back to his sides.

"— my parents are going to love you," he murmurs almost to himself, voice gravelly.

lucas hums in what he hopes conveys wish, unable to formulate a response. eliott raises a finger to tip his chin upward, leaning down.

" _eliott_ —" the door flies open and light illuminates the room in an instant. they freeze, lucas making an abortive movement as he stumbles back into what's probably a wes anderson shrine. "um." the voice is girlish and eliott groans. once lucas' eyes adjust to the light the girl comes into focus, eliott's eyes, shorter, heart-shaped face. she's older, lucas guesses. eliott hadn't told him the specifics; lucas didn't want to pry. "i'm julia," she says with a wave, fighting a smile, and lucas kind of wants to die. "mom told me to get you for dinner." and then she shuts the door, and the silence gets heavy.

"my sister," eliott supplies blandly. lucas makes a strangled noise, inhaling.

"i'm never kissing you in this house ever again. like, _ever_."

a raised brow, a quirked mouth. "you want to see how long that lasts?"

(it lasts precisely three seconds.)

 

 

"so you're younger than eliott, lucas?"

all of a sudden lucas has impeccable table manners, nodding as he tries not to choke on steamed broccoli. "yes, ma'am." it comes out flimsy. eliott meets his eyes from across the dinner table. he nudges softly at his knee, so soft, and lucas feels everything in him ease, loosen. when he averts his eyes to eliott's mom there's a small smile on her face, maybe, as if in on a secret.

"that's nice."

there are things eliott has told them about him, lucas guesses, as there are facts his family brings up randomly in conversation. eliott is sat beside his dad, and they share the same bone structure, and there's easy laughter all around him. julia is in university, only three years older. lucas observes this with interest, eliott glancing at him every so often. he likes it, he thinks. he could get used to this. eventually the dishes are cleared and washed and dessert is eaten, and it's time for him to leave, the nighttime sky now in the deepest navy blues, clock striking twelve, though eliott doesn't let him go so easily. _we don't mind you staying in the spare room_ , eliott's dad had offered. it was eliott's doing, possibly, though lucas doesn't put much thought into it, just knows that he wants to — badly, to get close to him.

in fifteen minutes lucas stands by the door to the guest room, julia beside him, eliott behind him. then she turns. "no funny business." she points at eliott, mostly, clicking her tongue, but lucas feels his face go several shades redder. "not before three a.m. at least, and you better remind me to put my earphones in."

like the storm eliott is, she leaves and the dust settles over them. lucas pouts a little, chagrined, relieved, thrilled, while eliott laughs, burying his face into the crook of his neck, twining their fingers together. "they love you," eliott says into his throat, "like i said they would."

"well it's a shame we won't be the next romeo and juliet."

"a shame," he agrees. a chime on his phone notifying its dying battery startles. eliott stares at him for the longest time.

"i think i have to sleep here tonight," lucas sighs, unhappy. he looks away, sitting on top of the flowery duvet, and wrinkles his nose at the slightly musty scent.

"maybe," eliott says, very low, very soft, cupping his jaw very, very gently, and lucas understands the words between the syllables. he kisses him on the nose and lucas chases his lips.

fifteen minutes later, phone plugged in and charging, it stirs.

 

 

(one fifty-two a.m., and the floor is cold underneath his feet, and they sigh as his eyes try to adjust to the darkness, searching for the door left ajar, shutting it quietly, eliott wide awake as he climbs into bed with him, pupils glimmering. they don't do much. eliott tugs at his hair, tender and caring and lucas is breathless, a bit shivery. nothing goes past that, though. lucas' eyes wander around the lightless room, trying to absorb as much of eliott he can in the little time he has to do so, committing it to memory. "i have to go soon," lucas whispers into the darkness, a little hesitant as it strikes three a.m. even in the shadows he can see eliott frown. "i — i mean i should go."

he slides away from the warmth of the bed, away from eliott, heart instantly growing unhappy again.

" _or_ ," eliott clasps the back of his shirt, letting himself fall into the dip beside him where he belongs, and lucas is in turmoil all over again. it's a very simple suggestion, affection layering his voice until it's hard to breathe: "you could stay.")

(seven sees him climb back into the bed he's supposed to be in, and it's cold and he's tired and his head hurts, but he doesn't mind, because the smell of eliott is all over his clothes by then.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yell with me on [tumblr](http:/unquaintly.tumblr.com/) ❤️


	2. ii. birthday boy (june 25)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> flirting and cake-eating and more flirting. 
> 
> (or: “if you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for a prompt on my [tumblr](http://unquaintly.tumblr.com/), hope you like! <3

 

 

 

**ii. birthday boy**

 

 

“okay but that was funny, though.”

eliott turns nineteen inconspicuously. it’s a party on a rooftop; cheap beer and summer dripping all around him — and the boy next to him — pretty, playful, popular, laughing at a joke eliott doesn’t quite catch, pupils glimmering from the fairy lights strung about. his words are sort of hazy, soft from how the syllables slip out. “what was?” eliott asks, sipping the last of his drink in the red solo cup. “you or the joke?”

eliott turns nineteen inconspicuously. six hours before he turns nineteen-and-one-day, though, is anything but. nineteen is a strange number, average, a number still clad in its juvenile anxiety. neither old, neither young (for him, at least). however this year, today, tonight, nineteen is special because _it is, eliott, it’s special, why wouldn’t it be?_ lucas had his palms over eliott’s eyes in front of an abandoned building, standing on his toes, giggly, and eliott would follow him to the ends of the earth. “i’m always funny, eliott,” lucas is playing with his fingers. “i can’t believe i’ve got a boyfriend who _doesn’t_ think i am, i’m offended.”

“i could object,” eliott grins, then puts his middle finger up at yann who’s making retching noises, the empty cup now on the table beside them. “i think you’re hotter.”

it will never not to be enthralling to watch the way lucas bites on his lip, hiding his face behind his third beer, suddenly rendered mute. “you’re ridiculous,” and eliott knows he doesn’t mean it because the blush is a flush of pleasure, really, and eliott will never be unwilling to make him pleased. lucas’ stare is ebullient, head tilted back. “you’re ridiculous,” he repeats. eliott kisses him, anyway.

daytime in summer is lengthy, but it deepens into indigo as lucas is on his fourth beer. it’s nearly eleven. eliott is just on his second. _happy birthday_ is thrown around, bright yellow party hat on his head, a matching one on lucas’, too. he’s happy, he is, and as he looks around the feeling is bone-deep and all-consuming it almost hurts to breathe. gifts that were poorly wrapped are handed over to him. manon leaves lipstick on his cheek. lucas declares that he needs to, too. candles are blown out and cake is eaten and it’s nearly one by the time lucas slides an arm around his waist, feet stumbling together as they go down the stairs, walking out onto the streets.

the alcohol makes lucas clingier, and the touches are distracting as they make their way back to eliott’s apartment, gentle and demanding all at once. blunt fingernails press into the soft skin of his palm, experimental somehow. the walk home feels too long. “i want to hold your hand,” lucas orders under mercury vapor, voice childish. eliott huffs a laugh. “i’m serious, eliott.”

“you already are,” the beat to his heart is messy, fond, complicated. _you always are_. “come on, we’re almost there.” fingers curl around his, and his breath is warm and shallow on his neck, apartment building quiet as the grave as they walk up, and he can feel how awestruck lucas is looking at him. it makes him feel things he’s never felt before again. things he never wants to stop feeling.

eliott heads to the bathroom first thing when he unlocks the door. lucas stumbles in before him, flopping on the couch, smiling up at the ceiling. it doesn’t take long before he gets out, all the lights are turned off. lucas is holding a cake. two candles. flames throwing shadows over his contours.

“happy birthday, eliott,” he whispers. “i mean it’s not your birthday anymore — but. still. happy birthday.”

the silence feels like forever. eliott takes weak steps toward him, until he stands in front of what’s probably a chocolate cake, messily decorated with an icing pen ( _happy birthday eliott! nineteen, hearts filled in_ ), candlelight making lucas’ irises an uncanny kind of blue. “lucas,” he starts, bewildered. “ _god_ , i’m —" everything he wants to say is half-formed, dying in his mouth.

“make a wish and blow it out?”

he does, and nighttime consumes them the moment ‘nine’ is blown out. in the darkness eliott reaches for his hand. the cake is placed on the kitchen table and he stands by him, tenderly watching lucas eat. “good?”

a sheepish smile adorns his face, tongue darting out to lick the stray icing around his mouth. “here—,” lucas holds out a piece of cake between his fingers, sugary and sweet, and it overwhelms. the air turns stuffy, clothes stifling, prickly, maybe not just from the summer heat.

“later,” eliott barely gets out, shifting on his weight.

“but it tastes really good,” he gets closer, eliott doesn’t breathe. there’s something daring in lucas’ smile, something wolfish, reckless. “i bought it for you, eliott. it’s your favorite flavor.”

“i will, later—" eliott can smell the chocolate, but he stops when lucas says a soft _ah_ , feeling himself growing warmer by the second as the piece of cake is placed into his mouth, sugary, sweet, saccharine, like the hold lucas has over him. eliott chews on it mildly, watching him lick the leftover icing on his fingers, not really tasting. “lucas, you’re — jesus.”

“i’m not, but thanks.”

awareness taints his words even though the sentence is innocent. in most cases eliott would follow up with something witty to say, flick on his shoulder or his nose, but all vocabulary is lost. the air is cloyingly smothering. it’s way deep into the night. “you should stop doing that,” he murmurs, not sure on how to go about doing this. “i’m going to get some water.”

the mugs are slightly chipped and the kettle whistles as water is boiled, poured, lucas standing over the half-eaten cake with chocolate all around his mouth, eyes following his movements intently. it almost makes him feel like he’s choking. still, he hands a cup over to lucas, drinking his until there’s nothing left inside. his teeth are cleaned of icing after it’s finished. eliott puts clingwrap over the cake. it’s two-thirty by then. lucas is still looking at him. “let’s go to bed?” eliott suggests, holding out his arm. “it’s late.”

“not yet.”

“why?”

“because,” lucas shrugs sort of vaguely. “you didn’t have your cake yet.”

he scoffs, a breathy chuckle escaping. “what?” lucas just stares. the faint redolence of cake still remains on his tongue although the portion was small, too incapable of handling him lick icing off his fingers. cake is good — cake is _wonderful_ , just not wonderful enough when eliott has lucas in its presence.

“what kind of birthday boy doesn’t eat his own cake on his birthday?”

“okay, fine,” eliott finally says. “— one slice. a small one.”

a sliver of the dessert is sliced with a butterknife, lucas has it in his fingers again. he offers it to him bit by bit. _he’s tipsy_. chocolate has never been more tasteless. eliott eats off of them, used to how touchy lucas gets, used enough he doesn’t think too much on it because he is too, but tonight air is heavy. down to the very last bite eliott lets his mouth linger for some reason, and the doe eyes that look at him wide and big and _wanting_ makes heat run through his body, hands moving slow at the sides of his waist. “ _eliott demaury_ —” he breathes. right before he moves back, lucas kisses his palm.

they untangle and eliott swallows. he’s furiously pretty, and all of a sudden he loses the ability to pronounce things correctly. “if you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.”

“then i’ll keep looking at you like this.”

there’s longing in the air they share even as they’re together, bodies yearning. the bed is big, but not big enough — almost no space between them, _and that’s good_ , eliott thinks. except sleepiness starts sinking in and lucas just cuddles him, pressing soft kisses on the crook of his neck, a little needy, mattress complaining the slightest. he touches him all over, caressing the skin below his ear, all of it mindless now, without consideration. still, lucas seems to flush under it, coiling. the feeling is reciprocated, his own body burning avidly when lucas is too eager and too impatient. everything he does causes him to react in strange ways he never did before.

“you’re old now.” eliott laughs, filling the vacancies night often leaves. the room is lit enough that he sees lucas smiling, eyelashes long over his cheeks, shadowy.

“and you’re still young.”

a brief silence follows, until lucas’ words come out small into the darkness: “and you don’t mind?” eliott grimaces, shaking his head vehemently. he’s never given much thought too it before.

“no, never,” the mattress shifts as eliott moves closer to him, as if he was never close before. “i love you.”

“oh.”

“ _oh_ ,” eliott echoes. “now go to sleep.” lucas’ eyelashes are soft, closing his eyelids, and he stares into their darkness, but lucas is touchy, clingy, needy. the kiss is quick though insistent. he pulls back, and his smile is endearing, and eliott drags him back in to kiss him again, grip soft on his arm, messy, sloppy, a bit of teeth, neither of them awake enough to care, and there aren’t many things he wants to do on his birthday (or birthday carried on by three hours) but this, or that, or nothing at all. eliott is breathing crookedly when they separate. coughing to recover.

“you taste like cake—” the words come through ragged breaths after a while.

“well, lallemant,” maybe he’ll have it for breakfast tomorrow, “would you believe that you do, too?” “okay but that was funny, though.”

eliott turns nineteen inconspicuously. it’s a party on a rooftop; cheap beer and summer dripping all around him — and the boy next to him — pretty, playful, popular, laughing at a joke eliott doesn’t quite catch, pupils glimmering from the fairy lights strung about. his words are sort of hazy, soft from how the syllables slip out. “what was?” eliott asks, sipping the last of his drink in the red solo cup. “you or the joke?”

eliott turns nineteen inconspicuously. six hours before he turns nineteen-and-one-day, though, is anything but. nineteen is a strange number, average, a number still clad in its juvenile anxiety. neither old, neither young (for him, at least). however this year, today, tonight, nineteen is special because  _it is, eliott, it’s special, why wouldn’t it be?_ lucas had his palms over eliott’s eyes in front of an abandoned building, standing on his toes, giggly, and eliott would follow him to the ends of the earth. “i’m always funny, eliott,” lucas is playing with his fingers. “i can’t believe i’ve got a boyfriend who  _doesn’t_ think i am, i’m offended.”

“i could object,” eliott grins, then puts his middle finger up at the boys who are gagging into their respective drinks, the empty cup now on the table beside them. “i think you’re hotter.”

it will never not to be enthralling to watch the way lucas bites on his lip, hiding his face behind his third beer, suddenly rendered mute. “you’re ridiculous,” and eliott knows he doesn’t mean it because the blush is a flush of pleasure, really, and eliott will never be unwilling to make him pleased. lucas’ stare is ebullient, head tilted back. “you’re ridiculous,” he repeats. eliott kisses him, anyway.

daytime in summer is lengthy, but it deepens into indigo as lucas is on his fourth beer. it’s nearly eleven. eliott is just on his second.  _happy birthday_ is thrown around, bright yellow party hat on his head, a matching one on lucas’, too. he’s happy, he is, and as he looks around the feeling is bone-deep and all-consuming it almost hurts to breathe. gifts that were poorly wrapped are handed over to him. manon leaves lipstick on his cheek. lucas declares that he needs to, too. candles are blown out and cake is eaten and it’s nearly one by the time lucas slides an arm around his waist, feet stumbling together as they go down the stairs, walking out onto the streets.

the alcohol makes lucas clingier, and the touches are distracting as they make their way back to eliott’s apartment, gentle and demanding all at once. blunt fingernails press into the soft skin of his palm, experimental somehow. the walk home feels too long. “i want to hold your hand,” lucas orders under mercury vapor, voice childish. eliott huffs a laugh. “i’m serious, eliott.”

“you already are,” the beat to his heart is messy, fond, complicated.  _you always are_. “come on, we’re almost there.” fingers curl around his, and his breath is warm and shallow on his neck, apartment building quiet as the grave as they walk up, and he can feel how awestruck lucas is looking at him. it makes him feel things he’s never felt before again. things he never wants to stop feeling.

eliott heads to the bathroom first thing when he unlocks the door. lucas stumbles in before him, flopping on the couch, smiling up at the ceiling. it doesn’t take long before he gets out, all the lights are turned off. lucas is holding a cake. two candles. flames throwing shadows over his contours.

“happy birthday, eliott,” he whispers. “i mean it’s not your birthday anymore — but. still. happy birthday.”

the silence feels like forever. eliott takes weak steps toward him, until he stands in front of what’s probably a chocolate cake, messily decorated with an icing pen ( _happy birthday eliott! nineteen, hearts filled in_ ), candlelight making lucas’ irises an uncanny kind of blue. “lucas,” he starts, bewildered. “ _god_ , i’m —" everything he wants to say is half-formed, dying in his mouth.

“make a wish and blow it out?”

he does, and nighttime consumes them the moment ‘nine’ is blown out. in the darkness eliott reaches for his hand. the cake is placed on the kitchen table and he stands by him, tenderly watching lucas eat. “good?”

a sheepish smile adorns his face, tongue darting out to lick the stray icing around his mouth. “here—,” lucas holds out a piece of cake between his fingers, sugary and sweet, and it overwhelms. the air turns stuffy, clothes stifling, prickly, maybe not just from the summer heat.

“later,” eliott barely gets out, shifting on his weight.

“but it tastes really good,” he gets closer, eliott doesn’t breathe. there’s something daring in lucas’ smile, something wolfish, reckless. “i bought it for you, eliott. it’s your favorite flavor.”

“i will, later—" eliott can smell the chocolate, but he stops when lucas says a soft  _ah_ , feeling himself growing warmer by the second as the piece of cake is placed into his mouth, sugary, sweet, saccharine, like the hold lucas has over him. eliott chews on it mildly, watching him lick the leftover icing on his fingers, not really tasting. “lucas, you’re — jesus.”

“i’m not, but thanks.”

awareness taints his words even though the sentence is innocent. in most cases eliott would follow up with something witty to say, flick on his shoulder or his nose, but all vocabulary is lost. the air is cloyingly smothering. it’s way deep into the night. “you should stop doing that,” he murmurs, not sure on how to go about doing this. “i’m going to get some water.”

the mugs are slightly chipped and the kettle whistles as water is boiled, poured, lucas standing over the half-eaten cake with chocolate all around his mouth, eyes following his movements intently. it almost makes him feel like he’s choking. still, he hands a cup over to lucas, drinking his until there’s nothing left inside. his teeth are cleaned of icing after it’s finished. eliott puts clingwrap over the cake. it’s two-thirty by then. lucas is still looking at him. “let’s go to bed?” eliott suggests, holding out his arm. “it’s late.”

“not yet.”

“why?”

“because,” lucas shrugs sort of vaguely. “you didn’t have your cake yet.”

he scoffs, a breathy chuckle escaping. “what?” lucas just stares. the faint redolence of cake still remains on his tongue although the portion was small, too incapable of handling him lick icing off his fingers. cake is good — cake is  _wonderful_ , just not wonderful enough when eliott has lucas in its presence.

“what kind of birthday boy doesn’t eat his own cake on his birthday?”

“okay, fine,” eliott finally says. “— one slice. a small one.”

a sliver of the dessert is sliced with a butterknife, lucas has it in his fingers again. he offers it to him bit by bit.  _he’s tipsy_. chocolate has never been more tasteless. eliott eats off of them, used to how touchy lucas gets, used enough he doesn’t think too much on it because he is too, but tonight air is heavy. down to the very last bite eliott lets his mouth linger for some reason, and the doe eyes that look at him wide and big and  _wanting_  makes heat run through his body, hands moving slow at the sides of his waist. “ _eliott demaury_ —” he breathes. right before he moves back, eliott kisses his palm.

they untangle and eliott swallows. he’s furiously pretty, and all of a sudden he loses the ability to pronounce things correctly. “if you keep looking at me like that we won’t make it to a bed.”

“then i’ll keep looking at you like this.”

there’s longing in the air they share even as they’re together, bodies yearning. the bed is big, but not big enough — almost no space between them,  _and that’s good_ , eliott thinks. except sleepiness starts seeping in and lucas just cuddles him, pressing soft kisses on the crook of his neck, a little needy, mattress complaining the slightest. he touches him all over, caressing the skin below his ear, all of it mindless now, without consideration. still, lucas seems to flush under it, coiling. the feeling is reciprocated, his own body burning avidly when lucas is too eager and too impatient. everything he does causes him to react in strange ways eliott never did before.

“you’re old now.” eliott laughs, filling the vacancies night often leaves. the room is lit enough that he sees lucas smiling, eyelashes long over his cheeks, shadowy.

“and you’re still young.”

a brief silence follows, until lucas’ words come out small into the darkness: “and you don’t mind?” eliott grimaces, shaking his head vehemently. he’s never given much thought to it before.

“no, never,” the mattress shifts as eliott moves closer to him, as if he was never close before. “— i love you.”

“oh.”

“ _oh_ ,” eliott echoes. “now go to sleep.” lucas’ eyelashes are soft, closing his eyelids, and he stares into their darkness, but lucas is touchy, clingy, needy. the kiss is quick though insistent. he pulls back, and his smile is endearing, and eliott drags him back in to kiss him again, grip soft on his arm, messy, sloppy, a bit of teeth, neither of them awake enough to care, and there aren’t many things he wants to do on his birthday (or birthday carried on by three hours) but this, or that, or nothing at all. eliott is breathing crookedly when they separate. coughing to recover.

“you taste like cake—” the words come through ragged breaths after a while.

“well, lallemant,” maybe he’ll have it for breakfast tomorrow, “would you believe that you do, too?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me[@unquaintly](http://unquaintly.tumblr.com/) :)


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